


Custom adapts itself

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [6]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: Alfie will just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it, he supposes, because the only alternative would be to stop doing what they’re doing altogether and... well. Thank you, but no thank you. He’ll stop sleeping with Tommy Shelby the day he absolutely fucking has to and not a minute sooner.In which there is some arguing and a first time. (Yes, that one.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Right,” Tommy says, one very fine evening, completely out of nowhere. “When we’re done here, you want to come upstairs and fuck me?”

He’s had the decency to lower his voice a bit, since they _are_ in fucking public, even though the only other table that’s currently occupied is far away on the other side of the room. He’s also clutching his cigarette like a lifeline, shoulders relaxed in that deliberate way that usually implies the complete opposite. He’s focused on the plate in front of him like it’s holding the secrets of the universe.

Alfie, who has just picked up his tea cup, puts it down again without drinking from it.

It clinks against its saucer very politely.

As far as subject changes go, this is a bit of a non-sequitur; since they’ve actually been arguing about United States custom fees for the better part of an hour, now. It’s the official reason Tommy has come to London today. Not the _only_ official reason, mind you, since Alfie has been reliably informed that he spent most of his day running around the city on various errands and meeting various important people. But it _is_ the reason Alfie is here now, at the hotel where Tommy is staying, drinking tea and vehemently refusing to pay fucking business expenses that, by all rights, belong to Shelby Company Ltd. and nobody else.

The whole discussion has been civil for the most part, though there has been the occasional bit of hostility. Well. Mainly from Alfie’s side, if he’s perfectly honest – he might have accused Tommy of some unflattering things, but that’s just the heat of the moment, innit. (And honestly, who _hasn’t_ called their business associate a cutthroat bastard, hell bent on overcharging innocent people and starving them to death at one point or another. These things happen.)

“If that’s supposed to convince us to pay for a third of it, mate,” he says suspiciously, trying to cover up the fact that the only thing he can think about, all of a sudden, is the way Tommy Shelby sounds in bed when you do something he _really_ likes. “I regrettably have to inform you, yeah, that you can fuckin’ _think again-”_

Tommy has the nerve to roll his eyes.

This is very unprofessional, Alfie thinks. Also, he’s pretty sure that nobody has ever propositioned him while looking this irritated before, but oh well. It’s not like he’s expecting romance, here.

“Is that a no?” Tommy says, seemingly indifferent.

And look. It’s not like Alfie doesn’t _want_ to fuck him – God knows, Alfie has wanted to fuck him since before they even started doing this. Whatever this is. He wants to fuck him _blind._

And it’s not like they haven’t done certain things already. Alfie has put his fingers inside of him before, which has gone fairly well, if he may say so himself. Because not to be overly dramatic or anything, but the first time he brought Tommy Shelby off while finger-fucking him is a memory he will treasure for the rest of his life, and not just because he felt like the king of the bloody world afterwards. (Though admittedly, that didn’t hurt.)

“Depends on the question, doesn’t it,” he says now, being deliberately obtuse.

His answer is going to be yes and they both know it. But the thing he’s suddenly realized, right, the one major fucking issue that comes to mind here, is this: Not only will he say yes to going upstairs with him (because _honestly,_ who fucking wouldn’t? Alfie is only human), but he’s seriously considering hand-waving everything else as well, just to get on with it. Which is alarming, to say the least, on a number of different levels.

He doesn’t think Tommy is doing it on purpose, which is cold comfort, really – because the problem is, he _might_ do it on purpose at some point in the future, if he ever realizes how easily he could. (And  if he ever gets over... whatever his actual issues are. Because there are a lot of them. Alfie could hazard a guess or two, but it’s none of his business, really.)

Alfie will just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it, he supposes, because the only alternative would be to stop doing what they’re doing altogether and... well. Thank you, but no thank you. He’ll stop sleeping with Tommy Shelby the day he absolutely fucking has to and not a minute sooner.

“See, I don’t even remember offering you to pay for a third,” Tommy says casually, taking a drag from his cigarette, and watches him through the smoke like a hawk.

Because of course he bloody noticed that, Alfie thinks, helplessly charmed and annoyed with himself over it. He has to resist the ludicrous urge to look around, to check if anybody else noticed the fact that Tommy noticed as well; which would be pointless anyway, because nobody is actually paying attention.

“No, no, yeah, that’s right,” he says. “My mistake. What you actually said, right, what you actually offered me, was to pay for _half_ of it, which of course, yeah, let’s do that instead, shall we. That’s much better. Because it is my personal problem, apparently, if they raise _your_ bloody fee-”

“Forty percent then,” Tommy interrupts, unimpressed. “There you go, that’s almost a third.”

“Fuck off, mate,” Alfie snaps. “Absolutely fucking _not._ You’d be paying customs anyway-”

“You wouldn’t be selling to the States _at all-”_

“Take it up with your fuckin’ pal, the Minister, then!”

There is a different kind of tension to the argument, now, which is absolutely ridiculous, because it’s not like they didn’t know where this was headed right from the very start. Alfie didn’t show up here at nine o’clock in the evening because he enjoys the bloody tea so much.

“Right,” he says, somewhat strained, and raises a placating hand. He can’t stop thinking about what Tommy said – it’s bloody irritating how distracting it is. “I’d say we finish this conversation at a later point in time. Tomorrow or, I don’t know, never, preferably. How does that sound?”

Tommy pretends to think about it. Which is bullshit, honestly, because he’s made up his mind already. It’s obvious in the way he’s looking at Alfie, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, inhaling deeply from his cigarette.

“Well, if you insist,” he says, finally, like he’s doing Alfie a favor. “Tomorrow, then.”

And maybe his face stays impassive while he says it, but he’s smirking on the inside.

Alfie can bloody tell.

 

* * *

 

Once they’re up in Tommy’s room with the door locked, it’s a different story altogether.

They’re kissing, but there is a strange kind of uncertainty to everything that hasn’t been there in a while. Alfie didn’t miss it much, to be honest. In addition to that, Tommy starts taking his clothes off almost immediately, which… all right. It’s not like Alfie disagrees with this development on principle, but there is a sort of determination to the twist of his mouth and in the set of his shoulders that’s not exactly reassuring.

It also turns out that he came prepared, because of course he fucking did. (Alfie probably shouldn’t find that endearing, but he does.) Once Tommy Shelby decides to go through with something, there is nothing on earth that will stand in his way, least of all poor planning.

“Where’d you get that from, then,” Alfie asks, honestly curious, weighing the small bottle of oil in his hand.  

Tommy looks over at him, annoyed. He’s down to his underwear, which is something that Alfie, who’s just about started to unlace his shoes, can sincerely appreciate.

“Get on with it,” Tommy says, drops his last layer of clothing and sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at Alfie expectantly.

“Fine then, bloody hell,” Alfie murmurs, turned on despite himself. That idiot is fucking lucky that Alfie finds him attractive to an almost ridiculous degree, he thinks bitterly, because his bedside manner is honestly atrocious.

It takes a while to open him up, which is fine, Alfie thinks, it’s good, everything is forgiven, because this is _still_ one of the greatest things that has ever happened to him. It’s fairly obvious that Tommy is more nervous than usual and doing his level best not to let it show, which is understandable, actually, all things considered.

What isn’t bloody understandable is the fact that he keeps trying to speed Alfie up, while Alfie does his level best to slow things down enough to make this a pleasant experience for everybody involved. He fucks him with two fingers for a long time, slick and easy, before he finally switches to three. Tommy seems to like that well enough, if the way he is rocking his hips into Alfie’s thrusts is any indication; cock a hard line against his stomach, breath hitching in the back of his throat. But he still seems displeased, somehow, frowning between the times his face smooths out with pleasure.

Alfie wants to kiss him again, but the angle is awkward and he’s too far away; and apart from that he’s honestly not sure if Tommy even wants him to, right now.

“Turn around,” Alfie tells him, once he’s satisfied with his work. The whole mood is strange, kind of awkward, even though they’re both hard and clearly into it. Tommy looks irritated at that as well, but does what he’s told; which, despite the awkwardness and everything else, still turns out to be something that fucking _works_ for Alfie, on a very primal level.

God, he thinks, staring at Tommy on his hands and knees in front of him, flooding with arousal, God, but he wants to _fuck_ him.

He proceeds to work his cock inside, slow but steady. Tommy growls _“Jesus_ Christ-” at the very start, then falls silent and by the time Alfie bottoms out (more or less – he’s as deep inside as he dares to go for a first time), he has tensed up completely.

And see, Alfie would try and be sympathetic to his plight, really he would, but he’s not sure he can even _blink_ right now without coming on the spot. The quiet, hurt noises Tommy is making on every shuddering exhale do nothing to help the situation, which probably means that Alfie is a bad person, which… might bother him more if he had the mental capacity to actually give a fuck right now.

It’s one of those situations where you’re on the outside looking in; since he’s feeling fucking fantastic at the moment, so bone-meltingly good he’s about ten seconds away from coming, it’s very hard to muster up any kind of actual compassion. Despite everything, he does his best to hold still, even though every fiber of his being is screaming at him to move.

“S’fine,” he murmurs hoarsely. “You’re doing fine, here, m’holding still, yeah, just relax, you’re gonna be fine-”

Deep down, he’s not even sure if he wants him to be fine – there are two opposing instincts fighting for attention right now; the first one viciously _wants_ Tommy to feel it, wants him to feel it for a fucking _week_ , wants him unable to think of anything else every time he bloody _moves._ The second one is uncomfortably aware of the fact that Tommy is clutching at the bed sheet so hard his knuckles are turning white and… not feeling ecstatic about that, exactly.

Also, the lack of a response sharp enough to cut, telling Alfie in no uncertain terms to go to hell, is very telling all by itself. It is a very sad state of affairs that they’re doing it like this, he thinks, even though it _is_ the easiest position in his experience, mainly because he can’t see Tommy’s face.

Because first of all, it’s a lovely fucking face, innit, and even more importantly, because it’s very hard to gauge someone’s reaction to anything when you can’t actually _see_ their reaction. Call it a hunch, but he wouldn’t put it past Tommy to just grit his teeth and bear it if something actually _was_ the matter. Which is absolutely _not_ how this is going to go.

Alfie just doesn’t know how to make it better, except by not making it worse. So he stays where he is and doesn’t move for what feels like actual centuries. Tommy relaxes in increments, which isn’t surprising, honestly. He seems to make it actively harder on himself, by clenching around Alfie’s cock every few seconds (which doesn’t fucking _help,_ Alfie thinks, gritting his teeth _)_ and tensing up again.

“There you go, yeah,” Alfie repeats stupidly, trying to think of comforting things to say. He pats Tommy’s back for a bit, which is still kind of stiff, but no longer resembles an actual wooden plank. “See, s’all fine, hm? You just relax-”

“Alfie?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ _move_.”

It would be a lot more convincing if he didn’t sound so strangled, Alfie thinks, but sure. Fine. He can do that, no problem at all.

It’s slow going, of course. He starts by pulling out just a bit, pushing in again slowly; which has seriously no business feeling as good as it does, but bloody _hell._ After a while, Tommy is making low sounds in the back of his throat again. They _almost_ sound like he’s hurting – almost, but not quite. The difference is in the way he is tentatively pushing back against Alfie now, locking his elbows, trying to spread his legs just that tiniest bit wider. Alfie is pretty sure – somewhere in the back of his mind, where he hasn’t completely given up on rational thought yet – that Tommy is still trying his best to keep quiet and it’s a fucking shame, really it is. But they can deal with that some other day, Alfie thinks hazily, there’ll be enough time to remedy that later.

“Oh fu-” Tommy says suddenly, sounding almost surprised, a tremor running through him. _“Fuck,_ fucking… _Jesus-”_

Alfie freezes.

Something inside him shifts, he can almost feel the change like an actual, physical sensation. The animal instinct of simply wanting to fuck until he comes... well, it doesn’t go away, not really, but at the same time, it’s not the one and only goal in the foreground of his mind any more. Instead there is... something else. He wants to hear Tommy sound like that again _,_ he realizes, everything else seeming like a tragic waste of time all of a sudden.

He’s been accused of single-mindedness before, which is probably what this is, too, at its very core, but who even gives a fuck. Tommy is going to enjoy this, he decides with newfound, isolated focus, he’s going to enjoy the _hell_ out of this and Alfie is going to watch him the whole time and that is just how it’s going to be. (It might be a bit of a manic decision, but he can’t be held responsible for that, can he. Most of his blood is currently otherwise occupied, so it’s not like he is operating at full capacity, here.)

“Hold on,” he says, surprised by how wrecked his own voice sounds. “Just hold on for a second, yeah, wait, let’s just-”

He starts pulling out as slowly as possible, but of course, Tommy is still hissing through his teeth. Alfie honestly expected some form of objection, which would have been entirely appropriate, or at the very least to be asked what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, but Tommy doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he turns over onto his back easily, lets himself be moved without protest. There is an expression on his face that Alfie has never seen before; strangely open, almost confused, with eyes that are pupil-dark.

It’s unsettling, is what it is, because for whatever reason, he much prefers it when Tommy is being contrary. It shows that he’s invested _,_ doesn’t it, it shows that he’s got an opinion – it means that they’re in this _together._ After all, if Alfie just wanted to fuck somebody who kept their mouth shut and rolled over, he’d fucking go and _do that_ instead, wouldn’t he. (Would be a lot less dangerous, probably, and save him the occasional headache as well.)

But then again, this isn’t the first time Tommy seems to be occupied with something inside his own head when they’re in bed together. He always comes back from it sooner rather than later; so Alfie settles between his legs carefully and says, “All right?”

Tommy swallows audibly.

“The fuck are you doing?”, he says, very quietly, his gaze jumping from Alfie’s eyes down to his mouth and back up again.

“Bit of a change in plans, hm?” Alfie says. He didn’t intend for it to be an actual question, but it sounds like one, anyway. “You still good to go?”

Tommy blinks up at him a few times, like he has to think about it – dark eyelashes, face flushed red – and yes, Alfie thinks, already mesmerized, this was the right fucking decision, no doubt about it.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” Tommy says then, raising his chin defiantly, clear challenge in his eyes. Here we go, Alfie thinks, running hot with arousal all of a sudden, _there_ he fucking is. He’s so turned on he can almost feel his own heartbeat in his cock, adrenaline rushing through him, because at the same time, for some strange reason, this also feels like the most dangerous thing he’s ever done – but it’s not like that is useful information in any way, because honestly?

Not like he’s going to leave now, is he.         

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: This has two parts solely because I couldn't decide on a POV, so I split it down the middle.  
> Not 100% sure if this works... the change might be kind of awkward or it might be fine. (I can't tell anymore, I'm too tired lol. Might rewrite this later, if I decide I really don't like it.)  
> Second part is almost done and will be posted in the next few days. 
> 
> Anyway, writing Alfie's internal monologue is really growing on me. He's just so much fun.  
> (Also, I'm on tumblr now, same [name](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/), same everything. Come say hi if you want.)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bit of a change in plans, hm?” Alfie says, as if that wasn’t already obvious. “You still good to go?”

He’s looking at Tommy expectantly, like he actually wants an answer to that question.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” Tommy says indignantly, even though he’s shaky with adrenaline, completely out of his element. But at the same time, he doesn’t need to be fucking _comforted_ – if Alfie, for whatever reason, has decided that they need to actually _stare_ at each other while they’re doing this, then all right, fine. Tommy can do that. He doesn’t fucking care.

Alfie kind of straightens up at his answer, looking down at him with an expression that seems to say “oh, _really”,_ like he’s accepting some kind of challenge. It’s the kind of look that makes Tommy’s stomach flip, anticipation and dread coursing through him at the same time. Then Alfie is reaching for one of the pillows, which is confusing at first, before he urges Tommy to lift up his hips and stuffs it underneath.

And it’s probably not unreasonable, Tommy thinks, swallowing, he can see the logic behind that, but it’s still… a fucking embarrassing position to be in. More so than being on his hands and knees, even, because at least he didn’t have to worry about what his face was doing then.

Meanwhile, Alfie has found the oil and unceremoniously slicks himself up again, which is a visual that is momentarily distracting. Something about him – the way he’s built, the way he holds himself, the way the muscles in his arm jump as he fists his own cock – just fucking _does_ it for Tommy. He’s noticed other men before, very occasionally, even found them attractive, but never like this; never in such a primal fucking way. It makes Tommy want to fight him, almost, just to feel him push back. Just to let him win.

Then he makes a shocked noise, because Alfie has started to work himself back inside.

There is just no way around the fact that it does hurt, a bit, but it’s not half as bad as the very first stretch, where he honestly felt like he couldn’t breathe for a minute. Alfie seems to be going even slower this time, or maybe it just seems that way because Tommy is able to pay more attention now.

When Alfie is done, he just… stops, and now they’re staring at each other. Tommy has no idea what his face is doing; he feels like he has no control over anything, not even his own reaction. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, can hear it pounding in his ears.

“All right?” Alfie asks again, hoarsely.

Tommy wants to make a sarcastic remark, but not only does Alfie look impossibly earnest, it’s like Tommy’s brain flat out refuses to string an actual sentence together. He’s too busy with everything else, he can’t fucking _think._

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

The one thing he didn’t expect about having a cock inside of him, he thinks, dazed, is the way it makes his knees go weak; how his legs feel completely useless all of a sudden. Alfie starts to fuck him again, rolls his hips in slow, controlled movements. It doesn’t even feel like he’s pulling out that much, at first. This is all right, Tommy thinks, almost relieved, he can definitely do this. Everything still feels new and foreign, but the initial pain is gone, replaced by the strange, slick feeling of a cock sliding in and out of him. Alfie makes a pensive noise, like he’s trying to figure something out, shifts around a bit to change the angle and after a few thrusts, he suddenly touches that fucking spot again.

Tommy can’t even make a sound, because there’s not enough air left in his lungs for that. He inhales sharply, desperately. It feels… it just _feels._ It’s too much and he wants it again immediately; his legs are drawing up all by themselves, tightening around Alfie’s hips.

“Yeah?” Alfie says, voice pitched low, like he’s asking for a secret. “Like that, is it?”

There is no amusement in his voice – he sounds completely serious, like this is a very important question. But despite everything, Tommy is reluctant to admit that it feels good, because some irrational part of his mind is still convinced that Alfie is asking because he wants him to admit to a weakness, that he is just looking for something to exploit.

Because the obvious answer, the _honest_ answer to that question would be: Yes, please, _exactly_ like that. Except Tommy is never, _ever_ going to say that out loud, not to Alfie or anybody else, not now, not in a million years. So instead, he snaps “Oh _fuck_ off-”, which comes out more hostile than he actually intended, but it’s like his voice is out of his control as well.

Any normal person would take being told to fuck off during sex as an insult, or at the very least not interpret it as a fucking affirmative – but of course, this is Alfie, who just nods to himself, like that was a satisfying answer, says “Yeah, yeah, all right then.” and proceeds to do _exactly_ that. What’s worse is the fact that he seems more confident now, like he is sure about what he’s doing, which. Fuck. Jesus fucking _Christ._

Tommy is very aware of the sounds he’s making, but he can’t seem to stop; can’t seem to do anything, really, except take it and take it and _take_ it, letting it wind him up tighter and tighter, while at the same time melting away every bit of tension his body ever had.

Alfie isn’t even going hard, just fucking into him nice and easy, in that controlled way Tommy recognizes, where you’re not doing it for yourself so much as for the other person, and it still feels…

It fucking _works,_ is the thing.

There is going to be an orgasm at the end of this, if Alfie keeps this up – Tommy can feel the shivery strands of it gathering already, in the pit of his stomach, the back of his knees, the base of his cock. God, he didn’t even _notice_ he was this fucking hard, too preoccupied with everything else. Alfie is going to take him apart, he realizes with something close to fear, he’s going to make him come, stretch him wide and fuck it right out of him, and Tommy is going to _let him,_ Tommy fucking _wants_ him to do it-

The next thing he knows, he’s dragging Alfie down and they’re kissing desperately; he’s biting at Alfie’s mouth, panting because there is not enough air between them. Alfie kisses him back without hesitation, giving as good as he gets, clutching at Tommy’s hip with one hand while he fucks into him with that same inexorable pace.

“Fuck-” Tommy manages, moans it against Alfie’s mouth like a confession. Who knows, maybe it is. “God, _fuck-”_

“Easy,” Alfie murmurs back, sounding strained. “Doing so good, aren’t you, you’re doing bloody fantastic-”

They’re so close. Foreheads touching, not even really kissing anymore. Alfie’s arm is trembling, where he’s using it to prop himself up above Tommy’s head, and he doesn’t seem to care at all. He lets go of Tommy’s hip eventually and wraps his fingers around Tommy’s wrist, fitting his palm against the back of Tommy’s hand, thumb tucking underneath. Then he’s lifting up a bit to make space between them, pulling both their hands down to Tommy’s cock.

Tommy hisses through his teeth at the first contact.

He can’t remember ever being this sensitive before, it’s almost too much and he couldn’t even explain why. At the same time, once he touches himself, he can’t seem to stop either, tentatively stroking his cock, swollen with blood and rock hard in his hand. Alfie is staring down at him with an intensity that is almost frightening, eyes wide and dark, entirely captivated.

He’s going to watch the whole thing, Tommy realizes, twitching into his own grip helplessly, Alfie is going to _see_ him lose it, _fuck-_

And then he does lose it, absolutely fucking _loses_ it, clutching at the pillow underneath his head with his free hand and arching off the mattress. Except he’s not going anywhere, because Alfie is still heavy on top of him, settled between his legs, fucking him right through his orgasm. _Jesus_ _Christ._ It seems to go on forever, just waves of relentless pleasure, one after the other.

He rides it out, helpless to do anything else; and then, suddenly, Alfie moans “Fuckin’ bloody _fuck-”,_ sounding surprised. He pushes into Tommy three or four times, hard, with completely selfish intent, and then stops buried deep inside, obviously coming himself.

Afterwards, they don’t move for a very long time.

Tommy’s heartbeat is pounding in his ears, even minutes later. The whole situation seems surreal. It feels impossible to calm down – he’s completely overwhelmed, on high alert and deeply satisfied at the same time, like he’s just run fifty miles without stopping or escaped certain death or won something important.

Alfie carefully pulls out a some point, which feels strange and kind of uncomfortable, but stays on top of him after that. Tommy should probably tell him to move, but then he’d have to say something, maybe even look at him, and he doesn’t- he honestly can’t-

He’s just let Alfie fuck him, he thinks. _Christ._ Just like that, because they both wanted to and they could. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, all things considered, because it’s not like they haven’t been doing… _this_ for a while now, so it doesn’t fundamentally change anything – but it still feels like it does. God, he thinks, weirdly angry at himself, why’d he have to fucking like it so much.

“Hate to tell you this, yeah,” Alfie says, muffled, from somewhere next to Tommy’s left ear. “But if you start panicking _now,_ sweetie, there’s really no bloody point, is there, ‘cause it’s about twenty minutes too late to change anything.”

“If you fuckin’ start calling me _that,”_ Tommy says, repulsed, latching onto the one thing he deems save enough to address. “We’re never doing this again.”

There is a moment of complete stillness.

Then Alfie lifts himself up to hover above him, balancing carefully. His face is still red, hair disheveled and dark with sweat at the temples, a triumphant gleam in his eye. To be perfectly honest, he looks kind of insane.

“Again, hm?” he says innocently, although he’s very obviously trying not to look pleased. Tommy shrugs, trying his best to appear indifferent. He can feel the adrenalin coursing through him; maybe it just never went away.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, _maybe,_ is it,” Alfie says and he is actually grinning now. “What’s the matter, then, you didn’t enjoy yourself? ‘Cause to me, yeah, it really _sounded_ like you did, ‘specially at the end there-”

Tommy slaps him.

Actually fucking slaps him – open-handed and not very hard, because he barely has any momentum, but it properly connects and everything. He doesn’t even realize he’s going to do it until it’s over, and then they’re left staring at each other, completely stunned. Alfie doesn’t look like it hurt, or even like the physical sensation registered at all, he just blinks down at him with a look on his face that’s outright astonished.

“Don’t-” Tommy manages, blood pounding in his ears. His face is burning like it’s on fire. Don’t say it out loud, he thinks, mortified, don’t say it like _that;_ but of course, he can’t put any of it into actual words.

He wants to say something, maybe even apologize, except he can’t, because Alfie is coming closer now, lowers himself down again – which, _seriously,_ Tommy thinks, would it kill him to have a normal fucking reaction to anything for once in his life – and then he’s so close they’re almost kissing, lips very _nearly_ touching, but not quite.

When he pulls back a bit, Tommy follows along on pure instinct, chasing after him; for a second, he can actually _feel_ Alfie smile at that, corner of his mouth pulling up, and then they’re kissing deeply, Alfie’s tongue in his mouth and Tommy’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand fisting in his hair.

For whatever reason, it almost feels more intimate than the actual fucking.

When they finally stop, they’re out of breath all over again. Alfie kisses him one last time – short, almost chaste press of lips, before he rolls off of him with a grunt. The whole thing still feels strangely monumental, but at the same time, inexplicably, Tommy feels a lot calmer about it. It’s not like he’s the only one, he thinks. Alfie wanted this as well. Which has been very fucking obvious from the start, of course, but for some reason, he’s just now starting to process that information.

“And not to make any assumption on your behalf, mate,” Alfie eventually says, like he’s continuing an already existing conversation. “But that wasn’t bad.”

“…no.”

“And when I say _not bad,_ yeah, what I mean by that - ”

“You’re welcome,” Tommy interrupts him hastily. “Yeah? Let’s leave it there.”

Alfie snorts at that, amused. “Yeah, all right, then.”

Tommy watches him out of the corner of his eye, as he lazily scratches at his chest, then rubs his fingers over a spot on his collarbone. He’s got very nice hands, Tommy thinks, out of fucking nowhere. He also just spent a considerable amount of time and effort on making Tommy feel good, without being his usual, insufferable self about it – but then again, he never is when they’re in bed. Right up until the moment the bedroom door closes, yes, and straight after, most of the time, but not… during. It’s strange, Tommy thinks, how he still doesn’t trust anything business-related Alfie says without at least double checking, and at the same time, it feels completely safe to do… this. 

Well. Not _completely_ safe. But he’s not worried that Alfie is going to pull a gun on him when they’re alone like this and that has to count for something, right? Because it is a legitimate possibility, at least in theory.

“I’m not saying maybe,” he tells the ceiling.

Alfie makes an inquiring noise and turns his head in Tommy’s direction. Tommy can’t quite bring himself to look at him, but continues on nonetheless.

“I’m saying, we can do that again,” he says and clears his throat. “If you’re interested.”

“Well, that is a _really_ difficult question, innit,” Alfie says, sounding very sarcastic. He’s still looking directly at Tommy, head tipped sideways, fingers now linked together on top of his stomach. “Very hard to decide. Honestly, mate, I’ll have to _think_ about that.”

“I understand,” Tommy says seriously, trying not to smile. “Take your time.”

“Hmmmm,” Alfie says, nodding. “Thank you, that _is_ very nice of you to say. I certainly will.”

Tommy gives in and lets his head fall to the side. Alfie’s face is closer than he expected, eyes bright and watchful. He’s chewing on his lower lip absentmindedly. They look at each other for a bit without saying anything, breathing evenly.

“You staying?” Tommy finally asks, as casually as possible.

There is no doubt in his mind that Alfie has somebody on standby to come pick him up; hell, Tommy wouldn’t put it past him to make some guy wait outside the entire night in his car.

“Depends, doesn’t it,” Alfie says.

“You’re not getting out of the customs fee,” Tommy says, immediately.

“First of all,” Alfie says, mouth working, wrinkling his nose. “Yes I am, mate, fuck you very much, and second of all –  since I’m under the impression, yeah, that we’ve mutually agreed to discuss this either tomorrow or never again-”

“Tomorrow,” Tommy interrupts. “Distinctly remember tomorrow.”

 _“-or_ never again, which, I’ll be honest with you, would be preferable to me, all things considered, but the main point is, if you’re absolutely insistent on going over this again-”

“I am.”

“-then I’ll have to be here for that, won’t I.”

Tommy shrugs and focuses his attention on Alfie’s collarbone instead of his face.

“I’m not _-_ if you have somewhere to be, feel free to fuck off, eh? I’m not _asking-”_

“Fuck’s sake,” Alfie mutters, but instead of annoyed he sounds almost fond. “Tommy. Shut up. C’mere.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer – his hand is on Tommy’s neck, tipping Tommy’s head up with a thumb under his chin. Then they’re kissing again, slow and gentle this time. Alfie hums against his mouth, a satisfied sound.

“Tomorrow, then,” Tommy says, when they finally separate. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a warning or an agreement. Alfie just makes some kind of noise; might be approving, might be not.

They’ll have to trade places soon, Tommy thinks – he honestly couldn’t care less, but Alfie is very particular about which side of the bed he sleeps on, even if it’s not his own. It’s kind of strange that Tommy knows that, because it’s not like he goes out of his way to remember stuff about Alfie Solomons, but sometimes, things just… stick. Case in point, him starting to get cold and also kind of self-conscious, lying there naked, whereas Alfie doesn’t seem to notice or care. His skin would be warm to the touch, Tommy knows from experience. Most of the time, he’s radiating heat.

Time for a cigarette, Tommy decides, but when he sits up to go look for them in his discarded clothes, he suddenly realizes that he is going to _feel_ this tomorrow. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it’s also not… _fuck._ It’s going to be impossible to ignore.

Alfie notices, of course, probably because Tommy is just sitting there without moving, and makes a face at him, stuck halfway between amused and sympathetic.

“Want me to go get ‘em?”

“No,” Tommy says, then adds, with a sudden trace of humor. “Think you’ve done enough.”

Alfie outright grins at that and scrubs a hand over his beard to hide it.

“For now,” he says solemnly. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Tommy rolls his eyes in the direction of the ceiling, carefully puts his legs down on the floor and gets up from the bed. He’s aware of Alfie’s eyes on him. It made him feel embarrassed, when they first started doing this, but now he’s used to it.

It’s not as bad standing up, he decides. It’ll be fine. He’ll go get his packet of cigarettes and make Alfie hunt for the ashtray, since there isn’t one next to the bed. Tomorrow they’ll discuss the fee again – Alfie is never going to agree to a third of it, that much was obvious from the get go, but that’s why Tommy’s initial offer was ridiculously high in the first place. With Alfie, if you open negotiations with a realistic suggestion, you’ll end up paying _him_.

This went well, he thinks, all things considered. Better than he expected, to be perfectly honest. There is a good chance they might fuck it all up arguing tomorrow, but if they don’t…

They’re definitely doing this again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, all done. This was a ton of fun to write.  
> And again, I'm not entirely convinced the change in perspective works, so... apologies, but it is what it is now. 
> 
> (Also, Alfie totally deserves that bit of drama at the end.)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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